Don't Burn the Day
by lookupatthesky
Summary: Alex Rider has just gotten fired. Except, when you're a spy, you don't get fired - you get burned. He has nothing - no identification, no money, and no home. Alex needs help, and Yassen Gregorovich might be his only option. Alex/Yassen
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Alex Rider, nor do I own Burn Notice, from which I got the idea of having Alex Rider get "burned".

**Author's Note: **I'm pretty proud of this idea, mostly because I haven't read another AR story like it. I'm not saying there isn't one, but I am unaware of it. I am assuming there are no recent ones, seeing as I'm pretty up-to-date on Alex Rider fics. I know the prologue is short, but it's necessary and I think it makes a better impact by itself (if it makes an impact at all). The point is, subsequent updates will be longer. Thank you to anyone who decides to read this, and please review! Everyone was so nice with reviewing my last one-shot, and I really appreciated it.

**Don't Burn the Day**

**Prologue:**

It's unfortunate, Alan Blunt thinks.

He stares down at the file in front of him. He's read it over twice. He's been on several phone calls for the past six hours, and he's read and reread the explicit instructions for any signs of a loophole. The fact is, there's just no way around it. It has to be done.

Tulip Jones is sitting across from him, her lips pursed in displeasure. She's been getting rather fired up over this issue, Blunt recalls. Not that he cares. He closes the file in front of him and takes a sip from the glass of water on his desk.

Unfortunate, indeed.

"It has to be done," Blunt decides finally. "It's quite simply out of our hands."

"I understand that," Mrs. Jones practically snaps. "I don't have to like it, do I?"

"Whether you like it or not has no affect," Blunt assures her coolly. "Where is he?"

"The hospital. Still recovering."

"Injuries?" Blunt inquires without much interest.

Mrs. Jones pauses to unwrap a peppermint before informing her superior, "Dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, and a limp left over from the stab wound five months ago. Stress was put upon the injury, but the doctor says he will walk normally in a couple of weeks. He can be discharged two days from now, as long as nothing goes wrong."

"Nothing bad, then," Blunt dismisses.

Mrs. Jones grits her teeth.

"Tell Crawley I want this to happen in two days, right from the hospital."

Blunt looks up, and Mrs. Jones nods.

"Good," he says, his voice a clear dismissal. Mrs. Jones stands up and makes to leave.

Blunt watches Jones' retreating back. Just as she is opening the door, he clears his throat.

"You realize it's nothing personal," he says.

Mrs. Jones turns back towards him, nods stiffly, and leaves.

_Nothing personal._

_

* * *

_

Alex Rider is a machine.

A nineteen-year-old machine, used nonstop for five years with a flawless record. It's the best idea MI6 has ever had. Alex is always at their beck and call. He's so young that he doesn't know other agents, or the normal protocol for said agents. He doesn't know about the required leave after missions, the psychiatric tests, the bonuses for particularly hazardous missions. Therefore, he gets none of these amenities.

He is inexpensive, emotionally unattached, and pre-trained.

And he's also a rather fucked-up human being. No one minds that part, really, because Alex hides it well enough. He's cold, detached, apathetic, and everything else that effectively hides what's underneath. It's so well-hidden that it's easy to ignore. So that's exactly what everyone does.

On a more personal level, Alex is doing alright. He's been a full-fledged agent ever since the age of sixteen, when he failed out of school. He was crushed at first, but it's not so bad, really. He's not only the youngest agent, but the one with the best track record and most experience. After five years, he's still a fairly well-kept secret, all things considered. Most people who find out he's a spy end up dying.

Jack was sent off to America as soon as Alex turned eighteen. It's probably better that way. They still keep in touch – Alex even visits occasionally.

Alex limps into the Royal and General, knowing Blunt and Jones are expecting him. He's surprised they're still around, after all this time. But Jones treats him alright, and at this point his interactions with Blunt are limited, although Alex is still the agent that most frequents Blunt's office.

The meeting is short and about nothing Alex doesn't know already .Everything would be normal, except that as Alex is walking out of Blunt's office, he starts to feel dizzy.

The next thing he knows, he's waking up in a hotel room.

Alex has no idea how he got there.

* * *

Yassen Gregorovich is in Dubai when he gets the call.

"Yes," he says curtly into the phone. He's sitting in an expensive restaurant in the hotel he's staying in. As he waits for the other person to speak, he spears a piece of meat and chews it methodically.

"I am calling about the matter we discussed yesterday." The voice is distinctly English and distinctly that of an older man.

Yassen puts down his fork and leans back in his chair. "I'm listening."

"Are you interested in partaking?"

"Do you have a date?"

"Eight days from now."

Yassen smiles thinly. "Do you have the situation with MI6 under control? I don't want to have to sort out undercover spies along with everything else."

The man chuckles. "MI6 won't be bothering us. Trust me, I don't think MI6 will be able to do anything."

This captures Yassen's attention. He deliberately keeps his voice even as he inquires, "You have a reliable source?"

"Yes."

There's a long pause, as Yassen considers, although his mind is mostly made up already. He takes a sip of water, staring down at the clear liquid before placing the glass back down on the table. Waiting never hurts anyone.

"I will be in London in five days," Yassen finally says into the phone. "I will contact you."

"Very good," the man says.

Yassen hangs up and stares down at his food thoughtfully.

The situation with MI6 might merit a deeper inquiry, he considers. Yassen's thoughts are drawn to Alex Rider, as they often are. He hasn't run into the boy in several years – at least, as far as the boy knows. There is no doubt Yassen has been looking closer into Alex than he probably should. Yassen wonders if the boy has figured out that Yassen isn't dead.

Not a boy, he corrects himself. Alex is nearing twenty, after all.

Yassen flags down the waiter with the slightest nod of his head. He slips his phone into his pocket and returns to his room. Once in his room, he pours himself a drink and sits in the chair by the balcony. He sips the scotch and his thoughts return to Alex Rider.

_So, there it is… a new story. Don't worry, this isn't going to be a carbon copy of Burn Notice. I merely took the idea of a spy getting burned. Although Alex will be wondering why he got burned. Please review! _


	2. Heavy on my mind

**Chapter 1: Heavy on my mind**

Alex has had almost two days to think about it, and he's come to an unwelcome conclusion.

Yassen Gregorovich is his last hope.

If he had any other options, Alex would not be within ten miles of Yassen if he could help it. But as it is, Alex has no one else. Jack was shipped off to the States as soon as he turned eighteen, Tom's hospitality is about to run out, and as far as the rest of the world is concerned, he does not exist.

So he's going to have to turn to Yassen.

The thought is synonymous with defeat.

Alex is still sitting on the floor when Tom comes in with his backpack and a football. He looks older than Alex remembers him, perhaps because their primary contact since Tom started going to university has been phone and brief meetings. Nothing longer than a half hour in a coffee shop or a game of football in the park. Alex knows he's lucky that Tom's even put up with him after all this time.

Spotting Alex, Tom drops his bag and asks, "Hey, Al, you alright?"

"Yeah, just trying to figure a few things out," Alex replies, rubbing his temple tiredly. "I'll be out of here by two o'clock, alright?"

"No problem, man. Like I said, my roommate sleeps over at his girlfriend's almost every night," Tom shrugs it off. He pauses to scrutinize Alex more closely, asking, "Are you sure you're okay?"

Alex can't really blame Tom for asking. Less than forty-eight hours ago, Alex appeared at Tom's door with nothing but the clothes on his back. Tom let him in without questions, but now he's worried. Alex doesn't even have a cell phone, and a white t-shirt isn't going to do much good against the night chill.

Avoiding Tom's gaze, Alex finally admits, "I think I was burned."

"Burned," Tom repeats slowly. It sounds ridiculous, now that Alex is hearing it out loud. Who just says they're burned? Who actually gets burned? Alex is a fucking spy (_ex-spy_) for crying out loud and he's never even heard of it actually happening to real-life people.

_And yet here I am._

"What do you mean by that? Like, literally?" Tom asks uncertainly.

"No, like a burn notice was sent out. That's how spies are fired – if an agency thinks one of their spies is unreliable or has outlived their usefulness, they send out a Burn Notice. It effectively leaves the spy out in the cold. I've seen it happen before – fuck, I've been sent out to track burned spies before…"

"Fucking hell, are you sure?"

"It sounds insane, but I came back from my mission, was debriefed, and then next thing I knew I was waking up in a hotel across London, with nothing but the clothes on my back. I didn't have my license, even. I went to the Bank, but they refused to let me in. Then I went to the real bank that handles all Ian's money, and it's gone. Worse, really, because they claimed they didn't have any clients named Rider." Alex pauses. "It's like I don't exist." He looks towards the window as he admits quietly, "And I think MI6 took all of my money."

Tom stares at Alex in shock for a moment, because that's the sort of thing that happens in TV shows and movies, not real life. Although it isn't like Alex Rider has a normal life.

"Jesus, Al," Tom breathes, because this is pretty bad, even in comparison to some of the missions Alex has told him about.

"Yeah," Alex agrees.

"So, no money? No license? What about the house?"

That's a tough one. No matter how much he wants to forget, Alex still can see the flames licking at Ian's house… his house. And everything he owned and loved was in there. _Those bastards_. At Tom's questioning gaze, Alex grimaces admits, "Burned down – nothing but ashes now."

He didn't even get the chance to go in there and take the things that really mattered. Never mind clothes – he doesn't have any pictures of Jack anymore, nor of Ian… he has nothing to remind him of his parents, either.

"Fuck," Tom swears, and Alex quickly covers up the pained look on his face. No time for that now.

"Yeah… I don't want Jack to know, okay? I don't want to worry her. She's happy in America. And I'm supposed to be visiting her for Christmas, so I'll tell her then."

Tom gives Alex a long look. "I think she should know."

"She will, eventually. If I tell her now, all she'll do is worry."

"As long as you tell her when you see her," Tom warns.

Alex smiles with assurance and promises, "I will." He stands up, straightening his clothes to avoid eye contact as he says, "I'm going to take off."

"Okay…" Tom trails off, digging around in his pocket. He produces a piece of paper and fifty dollars. "Here," he says, and at Alex's look says, "You need the money more than me."

Alex takes the piece of paper with Tom's number hastily scribbled on it, but not the money. At Tom's worried look, Alex explains, "I have ways of getting money. I'll be fine."

Tom nods and says, "Keep in touch, okay? Really."

"I will," Alex says, slipping the paper into his pocket. "See you, Tom."

He makes his way past Tom and towards the door, trying to cover up his slight limp. Alex was told the stab wound wouldn't bother him, but that was six months ago and now his limp is back, thanks to his last mission. (_Maybe that's what fucking physical therapy is for._) He's about to leave when Tom's voice stops him.

"Alex?"

The former spy turns back to face Tom. "Yeah?"

Tom visibly gulps before stating, "You have enemies."

Alex nods.

"Are they going to be coming after you? I mean, they all know you've been burned, if there really is a burn notice out there."

That, Alex thinks wryly, is the million dollar question. He looks Tom straight in the eye and says evenly, "I don't know."

He walks out the door with nothing but the clothes on his back and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Alex doesn't have too much practice pick pocketing. Sure, Ian taught him back before all of the MI6 business, but that's a long time ago and Alex didn't take it very seriously back then, if he's being completely honest. The hard truth, though, is that he doesn't really have another option. So he spends the day riding the subway, going into the largest crowds he can find, and avoiding cops. He has to be more careful than normal, because his shoulder was recently dislocated, he has three bruised ribs, and his leg is still recovering. Bottom line, Alex can't really afford lots of running or getting caught.

At the end of the day, he has close to six hundred pounds, which is pretty fucking amazing. Maybe he has a bit of luck after all. Mostly, it's thanks to a man walking out of the bank with a cool three hundred pounds. Pretty stupid, but Alex isn't complaining. He keeps only one of the wallets – a cheap one that fits his moneyless situation.

Apart from the money, he's managed to obtain a lighter, several packs of cigarettes, and a few power bars from various women's purses. He stores it all in his pockets and prays he doesn't look too suspicious.

He buys the least expensive sweatshirt he can find and a twenty-dollar prepaid cell phone at a vendor.

Now what?

There's always the issue of where he's going to sleep, but Alex figures he won't need to sleep for long. He hasn't been sleeping much. More pressing is the fact that he has no idea what's next. He should make a plan, he knows. But he's too afraid to look that far ahead.

He stops in a fast food place, gets the first bit of food he's had in awhile for the smallest price tag possible, and eats slowly. Once he's stayed long enough that it's probably considered loitering, Alex moves onto a bookstore. He pretends to read and in reality starts thinking up a plan of attack.

It all comes back to Yassen Gregorovich.

For a few years, he believed what he saw and heard – that Yassen died in front of his very eyes on Air Force One at the hand of Damien Cray. But things get around and after mulling it over and putting all of the pieces together (and, yes, he may have hacked into the MI6 database a few months ago), Alex decides that Yassen Gregorovich is _somewhere_. The problem will be finding him.

As far as Alex is concerned, there are probably papers somewhere or a computer he can hack into to get Yassen's location, except it's probably protected by a bunch of alarms and guards that he won't be able to get past, now that he's not under MI6's employment. The other option is to get into illegal things and hope to hear something, which isn't the best plan, either.

His head is starting to hurt, and it's nearing ten o'clock. It's probably about time to find a hotel.

It's a very cheap hotel, which means the receptionist has no qualms about giving a room to such a young guest, although Alex is pretty sure he looks to be at least twenty-one. Lately he's been told that he looks older than his years, thanks to MI6.

The room is ugly and smells like mold, but Alex hasn't slept fitfully in awhile. So after locking the door and checking the window, Alex basically takes off everything but his boxers, curls up into the bed and falls asleep.

_There's screaming, a lot of screaming, and it's coming from all directions. Alex turns in one direction, and there's Jack – bloody and missing a leg and screaming for help. He turns around at another shout, and it's Tom, struggling as a man Alex can't see starts to suffocate him. He turns again at the sound of a third yell, and somehow now he's underwater, and it's Sabina, looking at him with big, imploring eyes. She can't breathe, he realizes. She needs to breathe…_

Alex wakes up in a cold sweat. His eyes snap open, and he shoots up. The covers have disappeared, and he is shivering as his sweat dries on his skin. So, so fucking cold. He needs warmth. Almost instinctively, Alex brings his knees to his chest and curls up into a little ball, like he's five and not nineteen.

And nineteen, how did that happen? How did five years of working for MI6 happen? _How did I let that happen?_

He won't be sleeping anymore tonight, so Alex makes a pot of coffee and crawls back onto the bed. He maneuvers himself so he's sitting on it cross legged, which just serves to make him aware of how big the bed is and how little he is.

He shivers, but most of the sheets are in a tangled heap on the floor, along with the comforter. Alex grabs a pillow and places it in his lap for warmth. He stares down at it.

This is new for him. Alex has always known himself to be controlled and unafraid and able to take on anything. That's how he's always been, growing up. It's how Ian taught (_trained_) him to be. But he's completely alone now. One hundred percent. He has no proof that he is Alex Rider. He has no possessions, no food, and no money that is rightfully his. There's no home for him to return to after this mission, because this isn't a mission, this is his life now. To make it worse, there's no home because MI6 burned that to the ground, and there's no Jack because MI6 deported her.

_And I'm so, so tried._

The problem is that he has no connections.

Being a teenage spy doesn't really lend itself to making connections in the spy world, after all. Or in the rest of the world.

The result is that Alex has no fucking clue how to reach a presumed-dead assassin.

The realization hits him with full force just as he's getting out of the shower. So there he is, standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom with just a towel on. And the thought occurs to him. _I have no fucking idea what I'm doing._

This thought is followed by: _I need help._

But then he realizes the killer part. _There's no one to help me._ Or, there is, but Alex has no idea where to find him. And that's assuming Yassen will help him.

Alex throws the bathroom door open and storms out, a look of pure fury on his face, because _what the hell was he doing?_ He throws himself face down on the bed, wishing it was his own. But wait, that burned down, along with the rest of his life.

He spends a good few minutes screaming into a pillow and pounding his fists into the mattress, because doesn't someone realize that he's just a kid and_ he doesn't fucking know how to do this sort of thing_?

The anger and frustration morphs into fear and exhaustion, and pretty soon Alex is asleep again, tears streaked down his face.

He just needs some help on this one.


	3. There's nobody in here

**THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M (OR HIGHER DEPENDING ON HOW YOU LOOK AT IT)**

Hello, all, sorry for the delay. This chapter isn't quite as exciting as you'd probably like, but it sets up the next chapter, which is beyond intense. And Yassen enters the picture, which doesn't hurt.

**Chapter 2: There's nobody in here**

Alex wakes up thrashing on the floor. He's naked, he realizes, which is probably a good thing because he's soaked with sweat _again_. Quickly he stands up, looking around for his clothes. He pulls on his boxers and then pauses long enough to take a deep breath and run a hand through his hair.

It's probably about time to move out, he thinks. He glances at the clock – it's the afternoon already. So he pulls on the rest of his clothes, grabs everything he collected yesterday, and leaves without a backward glance.

Or at least, he intends to, but the receptionist catches his eye as he's about to walk out the doors. She waves him over, and Alex warily complies. The lady, whose nametag says Mina, leans in towards him as he approaches and says, "I thought you should know, two men came in here early this morning asking about a young man. Their description made it sound like they were talking about you."

Alex tenses, immediately on alert. His eyes subtly whip around the lobby, but it is empty save for a pregnant mother and her two toddlers. Who is it? Are they waiting outside? Is it one of his many enemies, MI6, Scorpia?

"They left once I told them you weren't here," Mina assures him. At Alex's questioning look, she explains, "I don't know what sort of trouble you're in, but I'm not a stranger to that sort of thing. My husband…" she trails off. "Anyways, I thought I'd lend a hand. I'd say it was some sort of money launderer or high-end drug dealer, collecting payment."

"Collecting payment…" Alex echoes. He frowns. "Yeah, thank you. I know who it was. It's nothing to worry about. They won't be bothering you, I promise." He's about to excuse himself, but then an idea presents itself, and he figures he might as well go for it. "Er, I don't know if you can answer this, but what line of work is your husband in?"

Immediately, the woman turns suspicious, and Alex hastens to assure her, "It's just my boss, well, he was close with my dad. But my dad died in a shooting – got caught in the crossfire, you know – and anyways, my boss was nice enough to hire me." Even Alex is surprised as the lies just keep on flowing. "I do some odd jobs, and right now I'm supposed to be looking around for someone to help with... well, to put it bluntly, false identities… the guy we're using right now isn't reliable, you understand."

Mina relaxes slightly, and she chuckles, "Yes, yes, well I actually have a friend that could help you with that. His name is Neil Henley. I'll give you his address, hm?"

"That would be great," Alex says sincerely.

He takes the paper Mina offers him. She gives him a meaningful look and says, "If you need anything, you come here, alright? My husband knows how to take care of people, you understand?" Alex nods. "Good, what's your name?"

He thinks quickly. "Evan."

"Alright, Evan, you remember what I said."

"I will, ma'am," Alex assures her, and he takes the piece of paper she offers him.

Mina looks satisfied, and Alex leaves with a clear plan of what's next, which hasn't been a luxury for him lately.

Of course, everything becomes much more complicated when he walks out of the hotel and realizes he's being followed.

It's not that Alex can immediately tell a spy when he sees one, it's just that he has enough experience that he just knows that woman sipping coffee leaning against the building is analyzing him covertly, just like he knows the getaway car is the Toyota across the street a few yards down. And the two men talking business keep on purposefully angling themselves in his direction.

Definitely MI6.

Fury surges through Alex. How _dare_ they? How dare they burn him and destroy (_erase_) his life, and then start following him. They have no right. They kicked him out of the spy world, so they can't just expect that it's okay to put a surveillance team on him.

He looks down at the address for Neil Henley and wonders.

As far as Alex is concerned, there are two possibilities. Either the address and Henley are legitimate, or it's a ploy by MI6… but to what? They pushed him away, didn't they?

Unless… unless they want to know Alex's new identity, he realizes. That would actually make sense, because Mina talked about her husband's illegal activities way too easily, and Alex's story wasn't even that believable.

"Fuck," Alex mumbles under his breath. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…_

He looks down at the address and starts walking (_limping_) in the vague direction of it. His suspicions are confirmed when not only his tails follow him, but more of them start to appear as he walks, as if they know what way he's heading.

There's no way around it – Mina is tricking him.

Alex stares down at the piece of paper, wondering what's next. He wants to lose these people, he wants them to get out of his life. Except he's limping, and that's not exactly a walk in the park. He can manage to walk normally without unbearable pain, but running? Alex grimaces just at the thought. So he keeps walking in the direction they want him to – towards the street that Henley is supposedly on. He walks and he thinks.

There's only one thought in his mind – he wants them to _go away_.

Alex starts heading towards the largest mass of people in sight, hoping that he can escape without having to run. He sees the alarmed agents out of the corner of his eyes, but the first thing on his mind is that he needs to find a place to hide. It's crowded and busy and he successfully gets lost in all of the people. But that's not enough.

_They can't find me. I won't let them._

So Alex starts walking as quickly as his leg will let him, and he goes into the one place no one would expect a moneyless nineteen-year-old to go – a luxury hotel.

* * *

He looks out of place, and Alex is very aware of the fact. Still, it helps that he went to the gift shop and bought the least expensive polo he could find and a hat. He has considerably less money now, but the cost wasn't so bad considering, and he sort of needed new clothes, for a disguise and also so someone won't kick him out of the hotel.

It's been a half-hour, and he's pretty sure he has lost the agents. He's sitting in the bar area at one of the tables, watching everyone and trying not to stand out. The bar is slow, and so Alex can carefully keep tabs on who is arriving after him.

Keeping his eyes on the entrance, Alex sticks his hand into his pocket and pulls out the tiny slip of paper with Tom's name on it. He's already memorized the number, and it's unsafe to leave the paper around, where MI6 can possibly get hold of it. He folds it into the tiniest square possible and puts it into the glass of water on the table. Absent-mindedly, he uses the straw to swirl the piece of paper around and around until far after Tom's number has disappeared.

Alex leans back. He has nothing to do at this point, and he hasn't been found yet.

So he sits and has a Coke and an overpriced hamburger.

Alex is nineteen and attractive, he knows that. Still, he is surprised when a waiter walks over with a drink he is pretty sure he didn't order, saying a woman has already paid for it. Alex looks up in vague surprise. The woman isn't hard to miss. She's staring at him from her place at the bar with two friends, and when their eyes meet she raises her wine glass. Alex raises the glass that the waiter gave her and smiles slightly.

The woman has been in the bar since before Alex arrived, and anyways Alex only recalls one female agent, not three. So he isn't worried when the woman stands with a sultry smile and walks over. She sits across from him and says brazenly, "I hope you like scotch. Real men drink scotch, or so I've been told."

"You're informants are reliable," Alex assures her with a roguish smile. He takes a sip of the scotch. It isn't so bad.

Apparently, he's said the right thing, because the woman looks please. "I'm Victoria," she says. "I live on the outskirts of the city, but I'm here with some girlfriends for the weekend."

Alex inwardly frowns. Is it the weekend already?

"I'm Liam," he introduces himself, sticking out a hand. She giggles and accepts it. "I'm visiting some friends who go to university here."

"Ah, so where are you from, then?" She inquires. He can feel her heel sliding up and down his leg.

"Born in London, raised in France. I managed to keep the accent," he says with a smirk.

"That you have," she says, licking her lips.

Alex leans forward and asks, "How about I get you a drink?"

A slow smirk makes its way onto Victoria's face, and she says, "Oh, hun, I think I should be the one buying the drinks."

Alex chuckles as he catches sight of the large diamond ring on her finger. He glances up at Victoria. She notices where he's been looking and asks, "Is this a problem?" She waves the ring around.

"Not for me," Alex assures her. Her bare leg is wrapped around his jean-clad one.

Maybe this could turn into a place to stay.

It does, in fact. They continue talking and one thing leads to another and they are in a hotel room. Alex has had sex before – he's nineteen, after all – but this woman is older and more experienced and different. It's enjoyable, and Alex can at least half lose himself in the sensations. It still makes him feel dirty, though, because in the end it's just because he needs a place to stay.

Alex stares down at Victoria as she sleeps fitfully in the hotel bed. She looks like your typical socialite wife, beautiful for a woman of forty-five. But, Alex has discovered, she is remarkably breathtaking without the expensive clothes on. She also knows several good tricks in bed, Alex recollects with a feral grin.

Even as he watches her, she sighs in her sleep and rolls over, snuggling into him. Alex stiffens, but eventually forces his muscles to relax. He lets their bodies mold together and he breathes in her perfume.

He has to move sometime, he knows. He is pretty sure the MI6 agents have figured out where he is by now, and he needs to get rid of them.

And it also wouldn't hurt if he had a gun.

* * *

At first, Alex expects Victoria to be a one-night stand. She isn't.

The next day, he wakes up in bed to her kissing him sensually. He moans into it, and she moans back, pulling away to say breathlessly, "I haven't had such a great night in awhile."

She's grinding her pelvis into him, and Alex grinds back with a groan. He's already getting hard again. She giggles and continues kissing down his chest, stopping to nibble at specific areas. Alex's breath catches in his throat. It feels… nice. Not, like, electrifying or thrilling or toe-curling or anything. But it's still nice. He could do this, a lot.

Victoria takes him in her mouth, and he arches off the bed with a groan. It doesn't take long for him to come – _fuck, she knows what she's doing _– and she slithers back up his body like he imagines a snake would.

"My turn," he whispers, and flips them over. Victoria moans as Alex's fingers trail down her stomach. Using all of the skill he possesses, he fingers and licks her to an insurmountable high. She moans and whimpers and squirms and arches… and Alex is bored.

Afterwards, Victoria lies panting and Alex nudges her shoulder with his nose, sinking into the mattress with his eyes drifting shut.

"You want to come and stay at my house for a couple of days?" Victoria asks suddenly.

Alex frowns, raising his head and staring down at her. She grins and runs a hand up and down one of his arms, explaining, "Like I said, that was the best night I've had in a long time. I think we could have some fun together."

"I thought you were married," Alex says with a quirk of his lips. His mind is racing.

Victoria shrugs delicately. "My husband's off working for the next few weeks, and he wouldn't care either way."

Inwardly, Alex is bemused, but he doesn't show it outwardly. Instead, he remains silent. As if trying to convince him further, Victoria continues, "Come on, tell me you don't want more of that."

"Couldn't say that."

"So," Victoria whispers into his ear as she nestles her naked body closer to his own, "let's go. Right now. You're young, aren't young people supposed to be spontaneous?"

Alex chuckles, his breath tickling against her skin. He has the presence of mind to be thankful that she didn't suggest that he go home and pack more clothes.

"Alright, let's do it. I'll be spontaneous," he agrees.

"Good, there's just one condition," Victoria says. Alex tenses minutely, wondering what it is. Luckily, she doesn't notice, and continues, her voice lowering sultrily, "You have to speak French to me. I hear it sounds deliciously sexy."

"Deliciously sexy, huh?" Alex teases. "D'accord, je le ferai."

Victoria laughs and sits up. "I suppose I should take a shower." She sounds like she doesn't want to leave him. "Checkout is at eleven."

Alex glances at the clock – it's nine. "What about you take your shower, and I'll go down and get us coffee?" he suggests, rolling over and getting up. He doesn't miss the way that Victoria appraises his body approvingly. "I need to call a couple friends, anyways."

"Okay," she sighs, seemingly disappointed when Alex fishes his boxers off the floor and slips them on. Alex has to fight back a grin. Her eyes drift up to his chest, bypassing most of the battle scars and setting on the bullet wound over his heart. He's managed to get a couple of grazes since then, and the scar on his leg is pretty spectacular, but the bullet wound takes the prize.

He remembers the night before, when Victoria noticed his hesitation before peeling off his shirt.

"What?" she asked breathlessly. "Worried about measuring up?"

She grabbed his crotch and started palming him through his boxers as she leaned in to kiss him again. Thinking quickly, Alex replied, "Battle scars, actually."

"Soldier?" she asked, pulling away and sounding much more interested.

Alex made a show of hesitating and saying quietly, "My father, actually."

Victoria gave him a long, sympathetic look before slowly pulling his shirt up. She must have dealt with something like this before, Alex thought, because she took stock of his wounds with a carefully stoic face before looking up and commenting, "You wear them well. They make you look mysterious."

Alex leaned in and kissed her with renewed passion and thanks, and it was completely genuine.

Thinking back on it, Alex still feels a rush of gratitude towards Victoria. He still half expects her to say she's disgusted by them and can't stand to look at them. But she hasn't yet, and maybe she won't.

As soon as Alex is dressed and Victoria is in the shower, he makes his way out of the room. The hallway is empty, which means that if there are agents around, they aren't about to attack him. They are on the fourth floor, so Alex makes the sacrifice and uses the stairs – elevators are too small and confined for his liking.

He goes as fast as he can, reaching the bottom just as someone opens the door. Alex stops dead, and the agent staring back at him does, as well.

Alex recovers immediately, striking out and pinning the man against the wall before he can recover. The man lashes out, but in a quick maneuver, Alex swipes the handgun sitting harmlessly in the man's holster and hits him over the head with it.

Alex steps back as the man falls to the ground, unconscious. He stands there, staring down at the agent. With Victoria, he felt older, like a normal adult. Now he feels like the lost fourteen-year-old boy that MI6 blackmailed into being a spy. Shaking off that feeling as best he could, Alex makes sure the gun is loaded and pockets it. He then takes the rest of the magazine clips from the man's jacket and stuffs them in his pockets. Knowing he looks very awkward with his pockets stuffed and the gun hidden as best as he could do under his sweatshirt, Alex peeks out the door.

His intention is to go to the gift shop in order to buy some sort of bag to store the gun and ammunition, but before he can, he catches sight of another agent at the reception desk, no doubt asking about Alex. Taking comfort in the knowledge that the room is under Victoria's name, not his, Alex ducks into the gift shop, keeping his head low and walking quickly, disguising his limp as best he can, despite the pain.

Hastily, Alex grabs the most nondescript backpack in the boutique and makes for the counter.

Then he catches sight of the liquor case and pauses. There is free coffee in the lobby; the issue is that that's where the MI6 operatives are. And if there's one, Alex has no doubt that there are more. He contemplates this for a moment before glancing in the alcohol cabinet. He grabs three mini bottles of vodka and makes for the cashier.

"Bloody Marys?" the cashier asks with a grin, and Alex nods.

Alex pays with cash and books it to the side door, taking out a cigarette and lighting it as he goes. Making his way around the hotel, he immediately spots the MI6 car out front.

There's another one about half a block down with two agents in it (_their eyes are watching_), but Alex is interested in the empty one. There are papers sitting on the passenger seat – no doubt used for their cover and nothing more – along with a gym back of clothes. That's good enough for Alex. Hastily, he elbows the passenger window. The alarm starts going off, so Alex picks up the pace. He throws the vodka bottles into it and is relieve to hear the sound of breaking glass. Then he throws the burning cigarette and runs for it.

By the time he returns through the side door and reaches the lobby, the agents are outside at their car, and Alex can get his coffee.

When he gets back to Victoria, she comments on how long he took.

"They had to brew a new pot."

"Speaking of new, did you have that bag last night?"

"Yes," Alex says with perfect confident. He looks her straight in the eye and smirks. "You must've been too… _distracted_ to notice."

A blush spreads across her cheeks, and Alex's breathes a silent sigh of relief.

* * *

_Review? It would be greatly appreciated :)_


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